Vice
by Goalie Queen
Summary: An arrest leaves Colby injured and Don guilty. Not slash.
1. Preface

Disclamer FOR ALL CHAPTERS: I do not own any of the characters except the criminal. Numb3rs is not mine.

* * *

In the split second that the FBI's prime suspect Henry Baycliffe drew his gun and prepared to shoot Special Agent Don Eppes, something happened that no one could explain. It was just Don and Colby, sent to pick Baycliffe up at a rundown motel. They were following a tip from an anonymous citizen. It was supposed to go smoothly, beautifully. This nineteen year old kid wasn't even supposed to have access to a weapon.

Henry's finger pulled the trigger. Don prepared for the searing pain that he knew was coming now, but it never happened. Maybe, he thought, he died quickly with no pain at all. But when the gunshot sound finally came to an echoing end, he opened his eyes to find he was still alive, and Baycliffe was still standing in front of him, with a gun pointed at him.

Don's agent skills kicked in and he drew his weapon and fired, simply and quickly. There was a threat now; the agents' lives were in danger. As the enemy went down, something else red caught Don's eye besides Baycliffe's new wound. It was right under his nose, in the prone form of Colby Granger, who was lying face down on the concrete with a bullet hole in the center of his back. There was already a small puddle of blood around him.

The world was in slow motion as Don called for an ambulance, as he cuffed the whining Baycliffe, who had merely been shot in the shoulder, to a light pole in the parking lot. He returned to Colby's side quickly. He took him in his arms and held him while he bled out.

Colby tried to speak but spit out blood instead. He tried again. His eyes were wide as even more blood erupted from his mouth.

"No, Colby. Don't give up on me. They are coming to save you. You will be okay. Just stay awake for me. It's okay, man, you'll be fine." Colby coughed again and the blood ran down his cheek.

The sirens in the distance made Don's heart race. What was taking them so long? Don tried desperately to stop the bleeding, to do anything to help Colby.

And why did it matter so much now? A few months ago, Don might have been more okay with it. But now as he held the dying agent, _his_ dying agent, in his arms, he knew it was because it should be him on the ground while Colby tried to save him.

His team was falling apart. Megan was gone, David was mad all the time, Charlie lost his clearance, the new kid was taking herself too seriously, and now this. If Colby didn't make it, he knew would lose David, too, diminishing his team into virtual nonexistence.

The EMTs took Colby quickly after the ambulance arrived, revealing Don's blood-soaked arms, shirt, and partially his face. He sat back onto heels and watched as Colby was placed on a stretcher and taken out of sight. The policeman on scene asked Don some questions, which he answered monosyllabically.

"Are you alright, sir?" He couldn't tell whose blood was on Don's shirt.

"Fine..." He stood now, coming out of a trance of some kind.

"What's his name?"

"Special Agent Colby Granger. Baycliffe pulled a gun on me and… Granger took the bullet." The cop glanced nervously at Don, afraid that he would spontaneously break down.

"Can that be the statement?" Don was suddenly tired. He thought about calling his team.

"That's fine. I have to go." Don turned and walked away from the obnoxious man and tugged his cell phone out of his pocket. He quickly dialed David's number.

"Don? Where are you guys? I thought you were just picking up Baycliffe…" Don just waited as he let the realization strike David. "Where's Colby?" The difference in tone was almost tangible.

"Ambulance. Kid had a gun… shot at me… and…" Don broke off, watching the ambulance pull away with Colby. He zoned out as David answered, hanging up the phone and climbing into his car to follow the ambulance to the hospital.


	2. Chapter 1

"It's a vice I've been meaning to get rid of, but I just never got around to it…" Baycliffe gave a smirk that inadvertently tightened Don's death grip on the table. This was the eleventh time he reviewed this scene from the interrogation, the eleventh time he had nearly broken the desk with his strong hands, the eleventh time he had seen those almost black eyes light up when he talked about his killing habit. It had been almost a week since the shooting and Colby was still in the hospital. Don held that against Henry Baycliffe and was glad to see him shipped off to prison.

It had been hard to contain David when the comment had been emitted from Baycliffe. David, who was the most upset about the whole ordeal. David, who had met Don at the hospital after the phone call with Nikki trailing a few minutes later after parking.

"_Don?" He heard his name and picked his head up off of his hands to see David walking wearily towards him. The mangled expression on David's face told Don that the blood looked bad on his shirt. David simply shook his head._

_Don wanted to say something, anything, but found he was afraid to speak. He returned his head into his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. The uncomfortable waiting room chairs went unnoticed by all three agents, who sat in them while they waited the long while to find out if their agent, their friend would even make it._

It was David's voice that brought Don back from his brooding. "Hey, I'm gonna head to see Colby. You in?" The voice was strained, holding back the emotion flowing just behind the surface.

"Yeah…" He opened his mouth, but then stopped himself when he realized he had nothing else to say. "You drive."

The drive to the hospital was short and quiet, leaving not too much time for awkward silence. The two agents found that they had the worry for Colby in common, but David wasn't experiencing the guilt that Don was.

Colby was awake when they arrived, looking rather green and pale. A nurse was messing with one of the many tubes hooked into him, and he looked quite dismayed at the fact. "Guys," came his choked greeting. The ventilator had been rough on his throat.

The nurse turned promptly when David sat down in one of the chairs next to the bed to address them. "Agent Granger should not have visitors for too long today." She solemnly gave them a look, daring them to protest. Don made his way to the window, crossing his arms and looking out at the quickly graying sky.

David glanced questioningly at her but she just shook her head and walked away, leaving the three men alone. "How are you feeling, Colb?" David scooted his chair closer and grabbed Colby's un-needled hand.

"I've been better." A cough, and then: "How are you doing?" His question was obviously aimed at both men.

David glanced cautiously at Don, whose eyes were still not visible as he looked out the window. He turned back to Colby and smiled as encouragingly as he could. "We're great. Don't even worry about us. You just concentrate on getting better. Megan's coming into town tomorrow. She heard about your little accident and decided to pay you a visit. And kick Baycliffe's butt." David threw a smile at Colby, but it quickly faded when he saw the look on his face. "Hey, man, what's up? Are you okay?"

Colby was wincing now, eyes shut and hand tightening around David's. Don quickly took a seat in the chair on the opposite side of Colby's bed, hovering worriedly. A monitor started to beep faster. Seconds later, two nurses entered and began to hurriedly poke and prod Colby. One turned to Don and addressed him.

"You both need to leave, now." She turned back to Colby, blocking him from Don's view. David gave him a look and nodded. They stood up and left the room, both giving a quick goodbye to Colby, who they could no longer see.

David thought he heard Don curse under his breath on their way out the door, but he couldn't be sure. He dropped Don back at the office before heading home himself, wondering what was wrong with Colby. He knew it wasn't anything too serious or they wouldn't have let them in at all. He had been shot, after all. The outlook hadn't even been good in the beginning when he wasn't waking up after surgery. It was a miracle he was even alive.

"_We removed the bullet and repaired the organs that were damaged. He should have been awake about four hours ago, but it's okay that he's still nonresponsive. The damage was incredible for one bullet. We will wait until he wakes up to give a more certain prognosis." The doctor had given Don, David, and Charlie a pitied look before returning to his emergency shift._

_Charlie and David watched as Don sat incredibly still in that waiting room until Colby woke up thirteen hours later._

* * *

Colby groaned. He wasn't even on solid food yet. How could he be sick?

It wasn't really even that he minded being sick, just the process that hurt so much. The stomach aches he could handle, but when he moved at all, pain shot up his back and stomach. It was impossible pain, not even remotely dimmed by the many sedatives he was under.

Don and David had come in earlier for a few minutes until he had the pain again. The nurses had noticed the high heart rate and came in to give him yet some more medicine. By the time they were finished, he couldn't even see straight. Not that he needed too. But now it had worn off and he was in more pain than he had started with. And to make matters worse, Don was guilty.

He knew, even though Don had only said a select few words to him. He knew, because of the standoffish attitude that was so unlike his boss. He knew, because of the pain that clouded the familiar, brown eyes and the dark circles that loomed beneath them. He knew, because David was being touchy around Don, careful almost. He knew, because he had taken the bullet. Don was beating himself up.

And what was to beat up about? He was alive. He wasn't the one stuck in the bed with a hole in his back. He shouldn't be beating himself up. He should be happy, partying for his life. Because there had been one moment when Colby didn't even know if he would continue having a life…

"_It's okay, man, you'll be fine." Don kept repeating those words. But Colby knew he wouldn't be fine. The blood that was dripping out of his mouth proved that. He kept trying to tell Don, that it was okay. He could just let him go. Stop trying to save him, it was his time. He wanted to tell Don not to be guilty, not to beat himself up about it. He would find another agent. He would be okay._

_And then the medics had come and the real pain had started when they moved him. It was only here that he blacked out, slowly though, remembering the medic's name on the nametag and the brand of stretcher that they used to move him into the ambulance. He remembered the screaming of the heart monitor almost immediately after they connected him to it. Most of all, he remembered the cold feeling, the feeling of losing blood, of being empty._


	3. Chapter 2

As David was about the knock on the door, he heard a thump and a loud curse. His heart skipped a beat. Colby hadn't been answering the phone. His physical therapist had called Don to say that he hadn't been to any of his therapy sessions in that past week. Then, there was a call from the mental therapist. And now he was cursing.

David pulled out the key he kept in his wallet just in case and used it on the peeling apartment door. "Colby?" He called out as he entered the front hall, looking around for traces of life. He heard a mumbling of curses from the bedroom and followed them instinctively.

He stuck his head around the doorframe, slightly afraid of what he might find. "Colb?" Colby was crumpled on the floor, with only a pair of jeans on, revealing a muscled chest and stomach with a few seemingly random scars, ones David never even knew about.

"'m fine…" came a mumble from somewhere in the tangle of Colby. There was some attempted movement and Colby came into a kneeling position. He sat back onto his heels and shut his eyes.

"You're not even supposed to walk without a person to escort you. What were you doing?" David glanced around. His weary eyes finally landed on an amber vial on the table, one from the drug store down the street. "Oh… I thought the doctor said you shouldn't need those by now…"

Colby opened his eyes and sighed. "I'm not supposed to need them, but I can still feel it. Hurts…" The familiar green eyes darted around, exhausted but alert. "I'm sick of being still." David noticed the dark circles beneath his partner's eyes. Colby's muscles looked tensed, as if he hadn't even been still in ages. The big agent was somehow smaller, thinner maybe. The whole ordeal had been rough.

David helped Colby up slowly, who groaned mildly and fell ungracefully back onto the bed. There was a big sigh and a cough. "You've gotta start taking care of yourself, man. You won't ever be able to walk if you don't give your body time to heal first. You have to go to therapy, to get your mind back on track. You've been through a lot in these past few years and one day with a therapist isn't going to help you." When David saw his words were coming to no avail, he regretfully brought up a subject that he knew would hit home. "You're tearing Don up, too. He feels so… guilty." He paused, making sure that this was okay ground to tread on. "He didn't even want to come see you like this. He thinks it's his fault. You have to get better so he can feel better."

Colby's fingers made their way on his nose in between his eyes. David could almost see the migraine headache that was behind the weary eyes. The mouth that so often smiled was now always in a scowling frown. And as if in the middle of a storm, instead of taking cover, he had to be the one to run in the middle and rebuild the house that had been knocked down.


	4. Chapter 3

"You don't have to do this…" Colby mumbled, slightly annoyed by the fact that Don was now insisting that he be driven to all of his appointments and therapy sessions.

Don tightened his grip on Colby's shoulders at the words. He had been trying for weeks to make it up to his agent. He had been helping get places, anywhere he needed to go. He had even helped in an especially difficult therapy session and saved Colby some major trouble. Colby was finally getting better. He might actually be okay.

"Yeah, I kind of have to. Come on, we're almost there." They were slowly making their way down the sidewalk to the SUV. _Very_ slowly.

The drive to the doctor's office was awkward and quiet. Colby was pouting as usual, especially hating this doctor, who was strict about walking without a walker. Colby was under the age of eighty! He wasn't even supposed to need one until he got so old that he couldn't walk anymore. It was these times when he got in trouble for 'straining himself' or 'overworking the injured muscles' that he really wished Baycliffe had not been armed.

He would never wish he hadn't done it, though. He couldn't have saved Don if it had been the other way around, done the brave thing and stopped the bleeding and call an ambulance. He would have freaked out. And he needed Don, as much as he hated to admit. Yes, it was because of the shot that he was dependent, but his boss had been so trustful in that few weeks that Colby had been officially a _single_ agent. No secret spying. Those weeks had been really great. But now he had almost forgotten what being an agent was like.

They waited a while until the doctor finally called him back. "Just stay. I'll be back soon," were the words that Colby left with Don, who was always too eager to join him wherever he went. Like someone would pull a gun on Colby, and he needed to be there to take the bullet and repay him.

The doctor had him remove his shirt and lay on his stomach on the examining table. There was some painful poking and prodding and then he was sent in for an x-ray to make sure the back bone was re-forming properly. There was some scolding at the still strained back muscles that ached so much. And then the question that Colby had wanted to avoid:

"So, now you're off the pain meds, correct?" The doctor waited patiently until the silence became unnatural. "You are off of them, right?"

"Uhh… not exactly. It still hurts… I should still be using them if it hurts, right?" Colby couldn't look at the harsh brownish-black eyes of the doctor.

"How much is 'not exactly'?" The tone was harsh and the cold eyes were no longer scanning the clipboard with the files on it.

"Once a day. Maybe not even. Hardly as much as I used to…" The silence was piercing after the statement.

The doctor cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, I was really hoping the pain to be gone by now. Maybe if you rested as you were supposed to, we wouldn't have this problem. I guess you'll need a refill on the medication, then?" The disapproval in his voice was almost tangible.

"Yes…" It wasn't fair. He was being made guilty for something he had no control over.

"Okay… Here's the prescription. It's only good for one refill, though. Please let me know if the problem persists and you still need them. There might be a larger problem if you are, something I'm not seeing." There was obvious frustration in that statement, his shaggy eyebrows sunk lower down onto his generally stern face and he finally made eye contact with Colby. There was a soft pity that Colby thought he saw for a second and then the hardness returned.

Colby swallowed. He cursed the stupid kid for putting him through this, for making him feel like a druggy on the pain killers all the time. But the pain was hardly bearable at some points, although he would never admit it. He rose slowly and pulled his shirt back on, trying to hold back a grimace, and followed the doctor out the door and back to where Don was patiently waiting.

"Am I taking you straight home?" Don looked eager to escape the boredom of an empty waiting room in a sterile-smelling doctor's office as they exited the building to the parking lot.

Colby sighed. He didn't really want Don to know his weakness, too. But he really needed to stop by the pharmacy to get the pills before he went home. "Could we…" he paused, measuring Don's mood. "Could we stop by the drug store on the way?" He waved the new prescription in his hand and Don frowned.

There was only the sound of their footsteps, and then "Sure, no problem." It certainly sounded like a problem.

"Sorry… you can just drop me off. I'll do it some other time. Have my neighbor do it for me…" Colby turned away and pretended to be distracted by a tree. He didn't want to meet Don's eyes. He seemed to be avoiding people like that lately.

"No, no. It's no big deal, really." Don now had his mask on, the professional one he used when they were dealing with a death case or something so serious that a smile wouldn't be appropriate, the mask that scared Colby when they weren't involved in a case at all, the mask that hardly ever went away when Colby was around anymore.

"Jesus, Don…" Colby sighed as he was helped into the big SUV and the door was slammed in his face. The stupid bullet was ruining not only his life, but Don's. Don's bad mood affected David and Megan, and certainly Charlie and Alan too. He was really beginning to hate guns. To hate Baycliffe. To hate pain.


End file.
